


And We Passed Through the Country of the Blind

by Lypreila



Series: Anya Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Cute Nugs are Cute, Dragon Age Alt Pair 2016, First Meetings, Fluff, Nugs, Wierdness, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7067296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lypreila/pseuds/Lypreila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anya Trevelyan is beginning to think the spirit she met at Therinfal Redoubt was a figment of her imagination.  Until he shows up at Haven, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We Passed Through the Country of the Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Rare Pair Week, I guess.  
> This isn't beta-read. This isn't even spell checked. This is just.... random because I love Cole, and I heaped so much crap on my Trevelyan that she deserves to be a little happy.

After Therinfal, Anya begins to think that Cole was a figment of her imagination. She spends the trip back thinking about it, about the spirit that had helped her so. Staring blindly as they come through the gates of Haven, letting Disaster pick his own way up to the Chantry, she is sure that she will never see him again. She is not sure why this bothers her. 

“Herald.” 

Anya had to suppress a small shudder as Commander Cullen’s voice pulled her from her reverie. She was still having trouble accepting him, reminding her as he did of so much she wished to forget. The pain in his eyes, the regret, and worse yet the hope, pulled at her raw nerves, but she understood a little more now than she had in the past. Cassandra had told her plainly on the way to Therinfal of the Commander’s past - of his torture at the hands of demons, of his lost love, the mage who’d saved Ferelden, vanished to who knows where. She understood a bit better now, but the part of her that was weak and vindictive had trouble remembering the ‘former’ part of ‘former Templar’. But all of that was neither here nor there, and Anya managed a small nod at him before she spoke. 

“Please do not call me that.” 

Oh. 

Oh damn. 

Those were not the words she’d intended to say. ‘Good afternoon Commander!’ or ‘Hello’, or even ‘I once danced the Remigold naked at a ball’ would’ve been better. But no, of course not. 

The man looked confused for a moment, but the look passed quickly, replaced by a small smile. Anya watched him from behind the hanging fan of her hair, cautious. 

“What would you have me address you as then, my lady?” 

The words twisted something in her gut, but she couldn’t help it as one corner of her mouth twitched into something that vaguely resembled a smile. 

“Anya, please, Commander. I am no more a lady than you are.” Anya replied, then cringed inwardly, realizing only after the fact how bitter the words sounded when they fell from her lips. It was all she could do to speak again, rushing to fill the awkward silence that followed. “Did you need something, Commander?” 

“I. Ah - I am pleased that you’ve returned unharmed Anya. I came to ask you to accompany me straight to the war room. Sister Nightingale and Lady Montoyliet are waiting most eagerly.” 

Anya nodded, despite the heaviness of her limbs and heart. Reluctantly leaving Disaster to the care of the stable master she walked to the chantry, to be greeted by Leliana and Josephine, and Cassandra’s thunderous face and shouting voice. 

“Officers betraying their soldiers, Templars without leaders, a demon impersonating the Lord Seeker! We should’ve taken them to task. The crimes they’ve committed-”

“Were committed by their officers,” Interrupted Cullen, “The soldiers of the Order will serve.” 

Anya listened to them with only half a mind, turning things over in her head. What about Lyrium, she wondered. She wasn’t sure they even had enough for the few dozen Templars that were supposed to be coming. No sooner had she voiced her questions to the room than with a flash, the spirit known as Cole appeared on the table before them. 

“They’re almost here. Templars don’t like to be late.” 

She is a moment getting over her shock, and a moment more as she tries to come to grips with that fact that, judging by the curses of her advisors, they can see him too, but she is still fast to throw out her arms, trying to position herself between the blades and the Spirit. The word slips from her mouth before she can think.

“Wait!” 

Thankfully, they do. Cole looks up at her, and for the first time she gets a good look at his eyes, eyes that swim with so many emotions that she is nearly laid low by the force of his gaze. 

“I came with you to help. I would’ve told you before, but you were busy.” 

The words are said with a stark simplicity, and it strikes her again that he seems so young. She opens her mouth to protest the statement, but subsides almost immediately. She had been busy, even on the trip back Cassandra had been helping her send out messages. Varric and Solas had pestered her, especially for details of what had gone on in those seconds when the demon had pulled her into her own mind. Even at night, when they made camp, she’d kept moving, talking over supplies with this one, consulting with Harding on their route back to Haven, patrolling in the dark, nearly moonless nights. 

Anya nods. He was right. She had been busy. 

“That’s fine Cole. You just startled us, appearing out of thin air.” 

He smiles a little. 

“I wasn’t air. I was here, you didn’t see me. Most people don’t until I let them.”

There is the usual bickering that seems to always accompany her sessions in the war room, but in the end she summons the courage to stand up for him, (despite the Commanders dark suspicious looks and Cassandra's reluctance), and it is agreed that he will stay, with Leliana’s people keeping a discrete eye on the boy. Anya has no doubt that their surveillance will come to naught. When he vanishes, she is the only one who isn’t shocked by it. Instead, she smiles to herself, and walks from the war room. She wanders almost aimlessly till she passes through Haven’s gates, and makes her way to a small hill, some distance from the camp. 

Alone again at last, she takes a deep breath. The air around Haven is chilly, and the slight breeze makes it no warmer, but she is grateful none the less. Her eyes are dry, and feel heavy, but the air makes them better, though it does nothing for the urge to sleep that tugs at her insistently. She can’t help a small, quiet sigh of pleasure. The bustle of the camp tends to disturb her, used as she is to silence, but the creaking of the pines, the smell of the wind off of the icy lake, the grass beneath her fingertips as she sits down, all of this combines, weaving into a song that soothes her, letting her relax and set aside, at least momentarily, the heavy weight of responsibility. 

She can hear the nugs, too, moving through the grass, chattering in low voices. ‘I wonder if they’re talking about me,’ she thinks, ‘about the clumsy, loud human who comes to disturb their day and frighten them.’ It’s almost enough to bring a smile to her face. 

“They’re not afraid of you.” 

This time the disembodied voice doesn’t startle her. Looking around, she spies him. He is still dressed simply, patched shirt and all, and his hat hangs behind him, down his back. The sunlight has turned his hair almost golden, and behind the fringe of it she can see his eyes moving, roving around the small hill. Finally they still, focused on something behind her. A sudden smile lights up his face, and she can almost feel the change, wonder and happiness and some sense of compassion all at once. He lifts an arm, pointing. Her eyes follow the line, and when she sees what Cole is pointing her to, a smile breaks out on her own face as well, the first real one since before she left for Therinfal. The muscles in her cheeks protest at being used in this unfamiliar way, but it is a feeling easily ignored because there, just peeking out of the tall grass and dappled shadows, is a nug, nose twitching as it cautiously samples the air. Delighted, she turns back to Cole. 

“Did you do that? Are they coming to see you?” 

Cole shakes his head as he steps forward, dropping to the ground at her side. Long fingered hands fidget in his lap, flexing and un-flexing, fingers threading through each other, then falling loose. His eyes meet hers again, and she can read in them a wealth of kindness, and sympathy, and it is so much better than most of the looks she gets, filled with awe, or suspicion, even the occasional glimpse begrudging respect is no comfort since she had done so little to earn it. It’s as if he actually sees her, Anya Trevelyan, mage of the circle, maker of mistakes, someone who just wants to help and be of use. She takes a brief moment to hope so. Varric is wonderful, but he was preoccupied with the question of the red Lyrium, and it would be so nice to have a real friend here. 

“No. I think they are just curious, today. See?” 

His words push past her musings, and she turns to see that the first nug, tawny and with a large brown spot on its side, has come out from the grass. Another one, this one a solid dark brown with inquisitive looking eyes, seems to have slipped out past the first, and has edged almost all the way to her, unseen. Gently, slowly, she slides her hand from her leg, setting it in the grass palm up, and waits. It takes another five minutes, but eventually the inquisitive one sniffs at her hand, and Anya has to suppress a small laugh at the feeling of whiskers on her skin. 

They sit there, draped in the silence of nature, watching the nugs as they return and go about their business, till at last Leliana’s voice breaks the spell, calling her name. The nugs seem to vanish when the nightingale steps into the clearing, tilting her head to one side. 

“What are you doing out here all alone?” 

“Watching the nugs.” 

The reply comes easily to her, for once, and she offers up a fitting smile to the left hand of the Divine. Something close to amusement and understanding lights Leliana’s face for a moment, before she drifts into a small frown. 

“I came to tell you that my people can not find the boy.” 

Anya rises, stretching out stiff muscles, and heads back towards the Chantry. 

“I would not worry about it, Sister Nightingale. I would never keep someone here against their will, so he is free to come and go as he pleases. Besides,” she adds, hiding the upward curve of her lips behind a fan of auburn hair, “I am sure he’s closer than we think.”


End file.
